


When you already have the sun (a rainy day is unwelcomed)

by Bebetthy



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Falling In Love, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, We all know how this ends, no underage in this thank you very much, oh thats so dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebetthy/pseuds/Bebetthy
Summary: Apolo, for sure, is one of the biggest protagonists of tragic romances.The god of music, poetry and prophecy has a great baggage and certainly one of the saddest one is Hyacinthus, the young prince who won the heart of the sun's divinity ... And ended up in a problematic love triangle, marked by a tragic end.______________(Words like "demigod", "blessed", "protected" or even "cursed" always appeared when his name was mentioned. It turns out that beauty, even if admired, was not a good feature at all. Beautiful mortals drew the attention of passionate immortals. And this love hardly ended well for one of the sides. Or for both.)
Relationships: Apollo/Hyacinthus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Hyacinthus/Zephyrus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Kudos: 9





	When you already have the sun (a rainy day is unwelcomed)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavs/gifts).



> Hello!  
> (I wrote this in Portuguese and didn't reread because when I do I get selfcouncious and would never have the courage to post so... sorry if you find any mistakes and feel free to tell me. In case of you finding any "Jacinto"s in this, is because is Hyacinthus in Portuguese haha.)  
> First, I would like to remind you that Greek mythology has numerous versions of the same tale; therefore, it is hard to determine which one is "original". Thus, this is a narration of my own of the version that I know best and like the most.  
> Feel free to comment on the differences you know, if any are found.  
> Furthermore, Greek society was not like ours and concepts like "age of consent" did not follow our pattern. I do not say the age of Hyacinthus because here, in my version, he is older, at least 18yo. But it is not in the original story (research on homosexuality of Ancient Greece and understand it better).  
> However...  
> Good reading.

Everyone knew the Spartan Prince's undeniable beauty. In the bloom of age, the people believed that his beauty could just be a gift of the gods.  
Words like “demigod”, “blessed” and even “cursed” were always heard where his name was quoted. Beauty, even when object of admiration, was not a good feature at all. Beautiful mortals caught the eye of passionate immortals. And this love couldn't end well for one of the sides. Or for both, even if the worst part never was for the gods.  
Hyacinth was vaguely conscious of that. In his youth, that was not one of his biggest concerns.  
The gods were always with one eyes on him. His almond colored skin, his brown hair and his bright eyes revived all attencion. This was a good thing, right?  
Zephirus, in truth, was the first immortal to approach him, but other mortals have already did. One in particular had succeeded. One poetry. One tragic end that the young man didn't like to remember.  
The god of the winds has been present on many occasions. His appearances were demonstrated with a gentle breeze that accompanied him, followed by a pleasant smell of rain.  
When he felt it, always saluted the god, thanking him gently. One time, the divinity showed himself personally, in the palace's garden; he had reached out and stroked the prince's rebellious curls, who were looking at him, stunned by his presence.  
“Do you like my visits?”  
The prince took his time to answer, probably with a silly look of pride in his face. He cleared his throat. “You had never appeared personally, My Lord. But I like it very much.”  
“Good” he said, moving away, bringing a breeze with the movement. “I will show up more often.”  
However, onde day, when he was coming from one of his trainings, he felt a different presence. An inviting warmth, like the first sun shines in the morning or the last ones in the evening. He saw himself rocking his body without even noticing and realizes that a lyrical music was being played nearby.  
Following the sound and the heat, he came to a clearing with only one tree and, at it feet, a very handsome man. He touched a beautiful lira and his hair, falling like sunlight on his shouders, was crowned with gold leaves  
Hyacinth was stuck where he stranded, mesmerized by numerous factors at the same time. In a shock of recognition, he rushed himself to kneel down and reverence the god. But then Apollo rised from the ground and held out his hand.  
“Lord Apollo...”  
"Don't worry about small things, Hyacinth. Come here.”  
The prince obeyed, accepting the hand. They were face to face and the young man observed his features. Apollo was in his human form, but his godlikeness was obvious. In his posture — of those with great power and knew it —, in his features, impossible to be made naturally; in all that exuded from him. The aura of calm that Hyacinth entered just by hearing his voice and being exposed to his music...  
The god, to the prince's surprise, reach out his hand, letting the lyra fall in the soft and lawn ground, and touched his cheek lightly, like the feared it would break with his touch. Slowly, his hand opened to engage the entire half of the prince's face, his thumb caressing the prominent apple.  
The touch burned in a strangely inviting way. The young man buried his face in the direction of the palm, searching and yearning for more of the contact.  
— As soft as I thought.  
Suddenly, surprising Hyacinth deaply, Apollo's warn lips touch his, just for a second. He didn't react, even if he wanted more. He was almost in shook.  
The god gave him a half smile, stroking the mortal's curls.  
“Would you like some music, Hyacinth?”  
“Yes, my Lord. I would love.”  
And he sat on the other side of the trunk, perpendicular to the god of music. He lost himself in the sound, at some point just closing his eyes and surrendering to the rhythm. He forgot about what he had to do or what the had to traine. At some point, surrend himself to touches in the same way. But it was not like the sound didn't had the same effect.

“You do not fear Zephiro, My Lord?”  
They were laying in the bed, the god relaxed and the prince looking at him with attention.  
The reaction of the god was expected, his face scrunched up in surprise. He looked up at Hyacinth, who had his chin in his hand.  
“I fear nothing, Hyacinth. ” pointed the god, running his hand in the prince's back. “Much less a wind god.”  
The young man let his head fall in his arms, crossing them. He smiled lightly and closed his eyes.  
“Have you ever thought about chosing him?”  
That made him open his eyes.  
Apollo was still touching his back and he focused on that. The gentle breeze of the other god was pleasant, but the warm, strong, but gentle touch of the god of healing was addictive, mind-blowing and he had no way of not pushing himself in the hand, as he always ended up doing.  
“Do you think chosing him would be a better choice? That he would be good to you? Treat you better?”  
“No” he said, decided. He had come to ignore the breeze; the smell of rain. Who wanted promises of rainy weather when there was a sunny one at hand?  
Apollo continued to run his hand in the skin, seaming to be satisfied with the answer.  
“I just want you, my Lord.”  
“And I just want you, Hyacinth.”  
The young man smiled, wanting deaply in his heart to believe it. But he understood the ephemerality of the feelings of those who possessed immortality, and he did not envy it.  
Men felt intensely throughout their lives, but their suffering was temporary. He didn't know how the gods could do the same. Their feelings were known to be transitory and easily overcome.  
He likes to fell; that made him human, it differentiated him from that being he did not want to match. He understood the suffering of eternal life.  
“For someone so young, you understand things too well.” said the god, almost as if he was reading his thoughts. Maybe he was. His face was expressive as no one else and not very hard to read.  
“Maybe I am a old soul.” murmured, laughing and sleepy, with his heads buried in pillows.  
Apollo let out a mesmerizing laugh, his touches rising and causing him to sleep.

“You are very good at this, Hyacinth! Is there some sport you don't know?”  
Smiling fully, the young man shuddered. They were playing disco, one of Hyacinth's favorite activities. The two of them used to spend hours playing sports and had a lot of fun with it.  
In that they, in specific, the prince considered the wind perfect for a god play, strong and steady.  
“I have a lot of time to learn, I guess.”  
The prince was surprised with the intimacy that the two had achieved. The tranquility with which they talk, the frequency with which they spent whole nights together and hours of the day chatting and having fun. Such dialogues, extremely unexpected, but welcome displays of affection... His heart could not bear the thought of losing those moments.  
“Let's go! One more time” called the god. “You throw.”  
Hyacinth took the disco and, smiling to the god, threw it hard. The god ran, took it back and launched it back.  
He turned to the prince at time to see him smiling, distracted and tracing the path of the disco. He did not notice the sudden, abrupt and unnatural change in the wind, but the god of music did.  
He didn't have time to reach out, to process anything, to understand why it was coming towards his head, why it was picking up speed so fast, because...  
Apollo ran really fast. He tried and tried and tried to get there in time... Get there before...  
He reached the place where the boy was, stretching out his hands and searching for his body, but it was no longer there. The impact had thrown him backwards and the god was momentarily stagnant in place.  
The puck had hit him on the head, his hair now red with blood. His body was immobile and Apollo couldn't... couldn't...  
Finally, he went to him; he saw that his eyes were open, but narrowly. The young man stared at him and his eyes... Those eyes in which he was constantly lost, that look, which even in the midst of imminent death still emitted sweetness...  
He fell to his knees, his head in the young man's lap, his eyes stinging, his chest as heavy as an anchor, threatening to take him down and down down down.  
“Please...”  
And he felt it. The prince's delicate hand in his hair and then... Those fragile beats that he could hear, that he wanted to keep, that he would like to keep and repeat and repeat forever... Gone. And that hand, which he had already held so much and had already caressed his body, fell.  
“Hyacinth” he called, his voice fragile like never before. “Hyacinth?”  
But he was gone. His voice would never be heard again; his smile will never be seen or his warmth felt.  
In a burst of rage, only interrupted to carefully reposition his lover's body, Apollo stood up and shouted into the air:  
“Zephirus? You desgrace! You ruined so much and for what? Don't you suffer as much as I do, you flagitious?”  
He didn't receive a answer. And he didn't care, in fact. He kneeled down, his hands in the body, tidying up his robes, observing the open wound in his temple. The god had in his mind,l every single moment of happiness and joy and... Love.  
He couldn't imagine the other boy in the underworld; only one more soul, without a memory, without a destiny, wandering forever. Would his family do the necessary funeral honors? He couldn't imagine the opposite; it was unthinkable to him.  
So, drowned in a deep and terrifying suffering, he stretched out his hand and, through the young man's blood, did everything he could to honor him, to do him a tribute and prevent him from being lost, forgotten...  
He created a flower; and, in it's petals, expressed his suffering, forever marking his weeping.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked  
> xoxo


End file.
